


AU Boy, Another OTP Month

by Rizobact



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Feels, Fluff, M/M, No Plans, OTP indulgence, Short Stories, au yeah august, just writing as I go, there'll be fluff in there for sure though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-07-29 19:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 12,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: The month of AUs returns, once again featuring Prowl and Jazz in a series of short stories based on daily prompts.





	1. Holding Hands

**Author's Note:**

> So. I was reminded by several people posting things over the past 24 hours that it is, in fact, August again already. The last few months haven't exactly been conducive to writing and I've missed it, and since this was so much fun last year I've decided to see if I can repeat the feat this year as a way to spend some time with my favorite couple again. I know I missed the first day, but luckily the ancient (for the internet) list I'm working off of only has 30 days :)

“No.”

“Ja‒”

_ “No.”  _ He didn’t need to. Prowl meant well, but, “I’ll be fine, I just need a little more downtime.”

Prowl didn’t budge. “It’s been a whole week. If convalescing on your own was going to be enough, you would have improved by now.”

“I have improved!” He had! A lot more than he wanted to let on, because that would mean revealing how bad off he’d been in the first place. “I’m on the right track, I just need to keep taking it easy for a bit and I’ll be right as rain.”

“And in the meantime, you’ll continue to be‒”

“Useless, yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t worry, Mirage can cover any‒”

“‒in pain.”

“‒emergencieeeeeexcuse me?” That wasn’t the angle he’d expected Prowl to go for at all. Kind of threw the counterargument Jazz had prepared out the window. “I thought you’d be more worried about scheduling and the active duty roster than something as minor as a little discomfort,” he said, once again downplaying just how uncomfortable the past week had been. He’d already started to worry about how long his self-repair was taking himself. Why worry anyone else?

Looked like Prowl was worried anyway. “Come on.” He took a step forward, undeterred. “It’s time to see Ratchet.”

Jazz didn’t shrink back into his chair, but it was a near thing. “No.” He couldn’t go to Ratchet now. Not after putting it off like this…

“...don’t wanna get yelled at.”

Primus. That really did sound as petulant out loud as it did in his head, didn’t it?

If Prowl thought so, he didn’t comment. “Come on,” he simply repeated, extending an arm out to Jazz. “I’ll hold your hand.”

“Oh, yeah, like that’ll help,” Jazz scoffed, even as he wound his fingers through Prowl’s. 

It absolutely helped.


	2. Cuddling

Prowl was not, and never had been, what Jazz referred to as a “huggy person”. Rarely was he the one to initiate physical contact, and if he wasn’t in the right mood when Jazz did, there would be a soft  _ pat, pat, pat  _ a few seconds into the embrace that meant  _ that was nice but I’m done now, please let go.  _ Jazz usually released him at the first series of pats, though every now and then he didn’t let go quickly enough and Prowl would do it a second time, then a third, at shortening intervals.

At first he’d been offended by it, thinking Prowl was putting up with the hugs instead of just telling him they bothered him. The pats felt like passive-aggressive hints, ending their hugs on a sour note of tolerance rather than affection, and Jazz would let go feeling rejected. For awhile Jazz had been reluctant to go to Prowl for hugs, even when he needed the comfort and reassurance of another’s arms around him, of  _ Prowl’s  _ arms in particular.

Then, one otherwise terrible day, Jazz had made a wonderful discovery. 

Coming home after a rough mission sucked. Coming home after a rough mission to find his friend in the medbay sucked even more, and seeing the patchwork of fresh welds that was Prowl laying on the berth when he came in to see Ratchet had been too much. Crawling up next to Prowl, Jazz had arranged himself at his side, curling in as close as he could without aggravating either of their injuries. The movement woke Prowl from his recharge, and Jazz had fully expected to be evicted in a matter of minutes. Instead…

Instead, Ratchet had been the one to pull him away, moving him to a berth of his own over an hour later. Turned out that, while Prowl didn’t like  _ hugs,  _ he had absolutely no problem with  _ cuddles. _

“Why?” Jazz finally asked some weeks later. They were lounging in the rec room, Prowl half-sitting, half reclining on the couch poking at a datapad with Jazz tucked up between him and the cushions on his side. “Why don’t you like hugs, but this is fine?”

“It’s not that I don’t like hugs,” Prowl said. “Quick hugs are perfectly fine. It’s the lingering ones that are uncomfortable.”

“Okay, but,” Jazz asked again with a gentle nudge to the arm draped over his shoulder and resting on his side, “what’s different about this?”

The stylus in his hand stilled. “It’s less restrictive,” Prowl said after a pause.

“Less restrictive.” Jazz was squished into the tiny space between Prowl and the back of the couch, one arm pinned beneath him and the other pinned where it was over Prowl by Prowl’s own arm. “This is less restrictive than a hug.”

“For me,” Prowl clarified, expression amused as he looked down at Jazz. “Though for what it’s worth, I don’t mean purely physically.”

“Oh?”

Prowl waggled the datapad. “I wouldn’t be able to do this and hug you at the same time. A hug requires active engagement, precluding the possibility of doing anything else without appearing uninvested or distracted, and neither have a tendency to go over well. The problem is that I  _ do  _ get distracted, thinking of all the things I could or should do afterward, and the hug winds up feeling restrictive.”

Really? “Wow. I never would have thought of that as a side effect of having a processor like yours.”

“It doesn’t do idle very well,” Prowl agreed sheepishly, optics already flicking back to the document he’d left open like he was itching to keep working on it. “Is that a problem?”

“Problem? Nah. You go ahead and do your thing. Maybe I’ll try a little multitask cuddling myself.” Jazz snuggled in that much closer, visor dim. “I could use a nap, and you make a surprisingly comfortable pillow.”

Prowl chuckled, and a second later Jazz heard the soft  _ tap, tap, tap  _ of the stylus once again.

If he had to choose, he’d take this over hugs any day.


	3. Gaming

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“Stop, go back, you missed a box.”

“Don’t waste time planting carrots, heart beets are more useful.”

“Watch out, they’re escaping! That’s why you need an air net for those.”

“Those aren’t going to be very profitable.”

“You should sleep before going out again.”

Jazz stopped what he was doing, counted to ten, then slowly set the controller down. Throwing it at Prowl wasn’t a good idea, even if the appeal increased every time he opened his mouth.

“What are you waiting for? You’re just standing there.”

Case in point. “I’m waiting for you to knock it off with the backseat gaming,” Jazz said, fixing Prowl with a Look. “You have your own save file to micromanage. Stop telling me how to run my ranch.”

“I’m just trying to help. This game can take awhile to really get going if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“So shut up and let me figure it out.” Jazz learned better by doing than by being told what to do, and Prowl knew it. They’d had that argument over much more serious subjects than Slime Rancher. “If you can’t handle sitting there watching me make mistakes, maybe you should find something else to do.”

“Would you prefer that I left?” Prowl asked, bracing himself to stand despite the disappointment on his face. 

“Sit,” Jazz said before he could get any farther. “I didn’t mean I want you to leave, or that we can’t talk about the game. Just stop telling me what to do every time I turn around, okay?”

Prowl’s relaxed back into his chair with a small smile. “Okay,” he agreed.

“Good.” Satisfied, for the moment, Jazz picked up the controller and resumed playing ‒ without sleeping. He knew a useless mechanic when he saw one.


	4. On a Date

A construction site.

They were at a construction site, and a pretty run down one at that.

“Prowl?” Jazz gave his bondmate a confused look. “What are we doing here?”

Prowl’s doors gave a nervous flick. “Trying something new? You said you wanted more variety on our dates.”

He had said that, yes, but he’d been thinking about trying new restaurants or joining a tasting group, not… whatever this was. “How is this a date?” he asked, wondering what Prowl’s plan was. “If you wanted to sift through rubble looking for hidden treasures, we could have just gone antiquing.”

That earned him a chuckle. “I wouldn’t mind saving that idea for another time. Right now though, I’d like you to meet someone.”

Meet someone? Curiouser and curiouser. “Lead the way.”

Entering the site, they quickly came upon a small, mismatched group of mechs all wearing temporary construction decals and non-regulation hazard paint. One of them came forward with an energetic smile when he spotted them. “Hey, you made it! You must be Jazz,” he said. “Prowl told me about you ‒ all good things, of course!”

“Of course.” Jazz couldn’t resist smiling back. “Though I’m afraid he didn’t tell me anything about you.”

“What? And spoil the surprise?” The mech laughed. “I’m Rebar,” he introduced himself. “We do volunteer odd jobs: painting, fabrication, demolition, you name it.”

Ohhhh! “That’s awesome! So, what are you working on today?”

“We,” Rebar grinned and handed Jazz a shovel, “are here to clean this place up! It’s been closed down long enough that some people started using it as a dump, and it can’t reopen for construction until that’s been taken care of.”

“Unless,” Prowl said, offering him an out, “you’d rather do something else?”

“Are you kidding?” A chance to make new friends, help people out, and spend time together with Prowl? Jazz brandished his shovel valiantly. “I can’t think of a better way to spend the day.”


	5. Kissing

It had been a long, hard, exhausting day at work. Jazz groaned when he looked at the clock and saw that he still had almost three hours left to go. In a way it was actually a good thing, since it meant he would (probably) be able to make his deadline after all, but right now he felt like he’d rather miss it if it meant he could go home.

_Money,_ he reminded himself. _Job gets you money, and money makes the bills go away. _Because running from the bills didn’t make them go away. He’d tried that, and landed himself in a real mess before Prowl suggested they move in together to help each other out. Prowl had been his best friend for years, almost as long as he could remember, and Jazz had said yes as soon as he realized the offer was serious. Now he was well on his way to paying down his debt, restoring his credit, and finishing school besides! He owed it to himself, to Prowl, not to give up over one bad day.

Even if it was a really, really,  _ really  _ bad day.

“Hey, Jazz! You’ve got a visitor,” one of his coworkers said, drawing his attention to the door where he and a very welcome sight were standing.

Jazz perked up immediately. “Prowl! What are you doing here?” 

“I just thought I’d surprise you.” Prowl came forward, holding out an enticing travel cup. “And bring you a little sustenance.”

“Ohhh, you are the beeeest. Gimme!”

Prowl chuckled, surrendering the cup to Jazz’s grabby hands. “I take it I have good timing then?”

“Perfect timing.” Jazz set the cup down where it would be safe and got up to give Prowl a hug. “Thank you,” he said, and, without even thinking, rose up on his toes to kiss Prowl on the cheek.

He didn’t even realize he’d done it until he saw the stunned look on Prowl’s face and heard his coworker’s slow clap. “You don’t have to stop there on my account!”

“Yeah. Um. Could you give us a sec?” Jazz shuffled him on his way, then hesitantly turned back to Prowl. He still looked stunned. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that. I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to, just say the word and we can never say another word about it again.”

It felt like an eternity, waiting for him to say something. Jazz stood there anxiously, watching as Prowl’s hand slowly came up to touch his cheek. 

He gave Jazz a long, thoughtful look.

“Actually,” he said at last, seconds before Jazz combusted from sheer nerves, “I think I’d like to talk about it.” He closed the distance between them. “When you get off work?”

Work? Right! He was still at work. How was he supposed to get through the rest of the day now? “Sure,” he said anyway, because what else could he say?

“Alright.” Prowl walked toward him, and Jazz thought he was heading for the door until he stopped right beside him. “See you when you get home,” he said, and kissed Jazz on the cheek.


	6. Wearing Each Others' Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> additional tags/warnings: spark merging

Mind, body, and soul. United in every way possible. Jazz/Prowl/they loved this, the closeness so complete they ceased to be individuals and became one. This was how bonds were formed, how they were strengthened, and after millennia of merges like this, the bond Jazz/Prowl/they shared was one of the strongest in existence outside the Well.

Mortal bodies were limited though. The energy of their combined sparks was impossible to contain indefinitely, and at the peak of an achingly pleasurable crescendo it all became too much. Ecstasy burst over them and flowed through them, chasing them back into separate entities with the force of a lightning strike.

...Interesting. As sensors came back online, Jazz could smell lightning too. He remembered the light drizzle that had been falling when they started the merge, but the droplets striking his plating ‒ plating buzzing with more than the aftershocks of a fabulous overload ‒ now were considerably heavier. 

Thunder rumbled overhead. Jazz looked up at the clouds and frowned. When had they gotten so dark?

Beside him, just barely audible over the storm, Prowl groaned. “Tell me,” he said in a voice that sounded at once familiar and wrong, “that we didn’t just get struck by lightning in the middle of a spark merge.”

“Of course we didn’t. We got struck by lightning at the pinnacle of a spark merge.” As near as he could tell, at any rate. His sensory data was understandably jumbled. “You okay?”

“I’m not sure. I feel like‒” Prowl’s field filled with shock “‒you!”

Huh? “What’s that supposed to...” Jazz rolled over, expecting to see Prowl, but instead found himself face to face with himself! For a moment he was too stunned to say anything, but then he couldn’t help himself. “Wow. Looks like someone grabbed the wrong clothes after sex!”

Prowl’s wry, unamused grimace looked as out of place beneath Jazz’s visor as Jazz’s laughter sounded in Prowl’s voice.


	7. Cosplaying

Parking at the convention center itself instead of another garage cost an arm and a leg, but it was a worthwhile expense in Jazz’s opinion. For one thing, it was easier to project their hard light avatars over a shorter distance, and for another, it meant their physical bodies were close enough to load down with merch!

Prowl sighed as he settled on his tires and “turned off” his engine. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into doing this.”

“Me neither, but I’m not complaining.” Jazz fired up his holomatter generator, popped his door, and “stepped out” so he could check out the custom cosplay setting he’d put together in his side mirror. Dark skin, check. Dreadlocks, check. Green shades and blades? Check and check. “Yep. I’m gonna be the best Lucio in there.”

“Of course you are.” There wasn’t a trace of doubt in Prowl’s voice, but there was a hint of hesitancy. “Do I really have to cosplay too?”

“You don’t  _ have  _ to.” Prowl was still sitting there with his doors firmly shut when Jazz turned to look at him. “If you’re worried about standing out too much, I promise you. Place like this? You’ll stand out more if you’re  _ not  _ in costume. And anyway,” he added with a cheeky grin, “no matter what you go with, it’s not like it’ll be  _ you.” _

“I suppose you have a point.” 

He still didn’t open his door though.

Jazz crossed holographic arms over his chest. “Sometime today please? I want to case the dealer’s room before the voice acting panel.”

“I’m working on it.” A moment later his door swung open, and out stepped an absolutely  _ stunning  _ brunette in a skintight bodysuit. Black and white and blue with pink piping and racing logos, he ‒ she? ‒ was a picture-perfect rendition of D.Va. “How’s this?”

Jazz let out a low whistle. “Damn, mech, I didn’t know you had her programmed!”

“I put her together as soon as you told me who you were planning to be,” soft pink lips quirked up in a smile both shy and sweet, “so that our costumes would match.”

“Match?” Jazz laughed and stepped forward to link arms with Prowl. “We do more than match, we’re going to be mobbed for couples pics.”

Prowl’s fingers closed around Jazz’s arm possessively, and Jazz watched that small smile widen into a smirk. “I know.”


	8. Shopping

Prowl didn’t usually get involved in Jazz’s parties. Sometimes he’d show up for the actual event for an hour or two, but that had been the extent of it. He’d never tried to horn in on any part of the preparations in the past. 

Apparently that had changed.

“I’ve drawn up a preliminary shopping list with everything we’re going to need,” Prowl announced after several minutes of rapidfire tapping on his datapad. “I’m running an analysis now to compare prices for each item with multiple vendors, and once the results are in, I'll be able to break the list down into subsections based on optimal locations and work out the best route to take to visit each. Or,” he continued before Jazz had a chance to respond to any of that, “I could request shipping estimates and compare the total to the calculated cost of fuel required to transport everything ourselves. Unless it proves to be prohibitively expensive, outsourcing that aspect of acquisitions to the humans would actually be a highly effective use of resources.”

Seriously?  _ Thunk.  _ Jazz’s helm clanked against the back of his chair as his head fell back in disbelief. “That’s great and all,” he said to the ceiling he was staring at, “but I’ve been doing this for a few years now. I think I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re familiar with what you’ve always done,” Prowl countered. “A review of your extant procedure indicates several points that could stand to be updated.”

“Uhh, one, I didn’t ask you to do that,” and if someone else had, Jazz was going to hunt them down and find something of theirs to sic Prowl and his overly analytical processor on to upend, “two, that sounds more like a complete overhaul than a few updates,” because what he’d just described was absolutely nothing like Jazz’s usual process, “and three, you’re overlooking one critical factor in all that stuff.”

“Oh? What else do I need to account for?”

_ “Fun.”  _ Jazz sat back up to address Prowl properly. “Shopping isn’t all about efficiency. There’s an element of fun involved that all that math is strangling.”

Curiosity flickered into confusion at that. “The math  _ is  _ fun. It’s a puzzle, a challenge to maximize a scenario based on a given set of criteria.”

“Okay, fine, maybe that’s the fun part for you.” Jazz was willing to admit that much. “In which case, yeah, you’ve had your fun without ever leaving the base so there’s no reason not to just have everything delivered. But I,” he emphasized, “like going out to see things and negotiate with the vendors in person. I’ve gotten some amazing deals that way, deals you’ll never find online.  _ That’s  _ the part that’s fun for me, and your method rather neatly eliminates it.”

“Because it takes more time and carries a higher risk of failure.”

“Right. Which makes it fun.”

“It makes it a gamble!”

“Gambling is fun!”

They stared at each other across the desk. 

“Prowl, I love you,” Jazz said after a tense moment of silence, “but I never, ever want to go shopping with you.”

“Likewise.” Luckily, Prowl deflated rather than storming away angry. “I didn’t mean for this to become a point of contention. I only wanted to help.”

“I figured. Why now though? You’ve never tried to help me with the parties before.” 

“Optimus said the last one was difficult for you, and he wasn’t wrong. You were pretty frazzled.”

_ Ding! Payback paging Optimus Prime.  _ But Jazz kept the thought to himself and explained, “I was frazzled because holiday shopping is a special kind of exhausting, even when you enjoy it. Now though? It’s  _ January.  _ It’ll be a piece of cake.”

“Then I will leave you to it.”

“Hey, wait,” Jazz called as Prowl turned to leave. He stopped at the door and looked back. “I wouldn’t mind if you left that analysis here.”

Prowl’s optics glowed softly with his smile. “I thought mathing your way through wasn’t any fun for you.”

“Eh. Doesn’t mean parts of it can’t still be useful.” Their fingers touched as Prowl handed over the datapad, and Jazz took the opportunity to stroke Prowl’s hand. “Truce?”

“Truce,” Prowl agreed. “Happy shopping.”


	9. Hanging Out With Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> additional tags/warnings: feels, happy crying (this one kind of evolved on me as I was writing)

Jazz was grateful to be alive. Make no mistake, he knew how close he’d come to biting the big one this time, and he wasn’t taking his survival for granted. Not after being so surprised to regain consciousness on this side of the Well that he’d thrown himself into shock the first time he woke up and very nearly died all over again.

Ratchet had been  _ thrilled.  _ He’d also been terrified. He wouldn’t admit to it, but Jazz knew. It had to be pretty bad for the abrasively verbose medic to work in silence, and he’d barely said a word between his opening “welcome back” and a much later, barely audible “thank Primus”.

So yeah. He knew how badly he’d been hurt, and he appreciated the need to take it easy so the massive number of repairs Ratchet had done had a chance to properly integrate. 

That didn’t make extended convalescence any less boring.

_ “Wake up, little Susie, wake up!” _

Jazz smiled at the sudden radio. “I’m awake, Bee,” he said, spotting his visitor in the doorway when he turned his head. “What’s up?”

_ “Have I got news for you,”  _ a distinctly English accent said before a lyric of Bad Company’s “Electric Land” played.  _ “Feel like a visitor from outer space!” _

“We’re all visitors from outer space,” Jazz laughed, not sure what Bumblebee meant. “You feeling lonely or something?” 

Bumblebee shook his head and gestured to Jazz’s bedside.  _ “Is this seat taken?” _

“Ah. Worried I’m feeling lonely?” He wasn’t wrong about that. “Come on over then. We can hang out for awhile.” 

Weirdly though, while Bumblee did come over, he didn’t sit down. Instead, he started dragging additional seating over to arrange around Jazz’s berth. He caught Jazz looking at him quizzically and replayed,  _ “Feel like a visitor from outer space!” _

Oh. Oh! “A new shuttle arrival?!” 

Bumblebee nodded enthusiastically, footsteps bouncing as he made room for one, two, three,  _ four  _ mechs! Sure, one of them was probably for him, and maybe one was for Prime or Ratchet, but that still left at least two for the newcomers!

He finished a moment later and, with a grand gesture to the doorway, announced  _ “come on down! You’re the next contestant on The Price is Right!” _

“OMG, why didn’t you  _ tell  _ me you were here?!” Jazz would have leapt off the berth if Bumblebee hadn’t stopped him with a warm chuckle as Hound strode into the room. 

“‘Ohemgee’?” 

“‘Oh my God’. Picked it up from the humans.”

Hound smiled and took Jazz’s outstretched hand. “Well, that saves me the trouble of asking if you’re still you in there.”

“Of course I’m still me. Amazingly enough, my head took very little damage from the whole ordeal.” By comparison; it had still been a little… crunchy, according to Ratchet. Jazz held on to Hound’s arm, shoving away the disturbing thoughts. He hoped he wasn’t hurting him, holding on so tight, but he couldn’t help it. “I’ve really missed you, mech.”

“We missed you too.” Before Jazz could ask who “we” referred to, Hound turned and called over his shoulder. “Come on, get in here already. It’s not polite eavesdrop.”

“But eavesdropping is part of my job description,” a smooth, cultured voice replied right before Mirage came into view.

“Raj!” This time Hound had to help Bumblebee stop Jazz from getting to his feet. “You’re not dead!” 

“Neither are you.” Mirage was at his side in a second, fingertips resting on Jazz’s shoulder in a rare show of physical affection. “I have to admit, after the incomplete transmission we received, I wasn’t sure.”

Jazz’s vocalizer clicked as it reset. “Yeah, well, you know. Not for lack of trying,” he said thickly.

“So I see.” 

_ “Bad idea.” _

“I knew that when I did it,” Jazz told Bumblebee, “but it wasn’t exactly like I had another choice. You all,” he looked around the circle of dear friends, miraculously here with him after millennia of war, “know what that’s like.” 

“Too well,” Mirage said quietly as he took a seat. 

Hound, arm still held captive by Jazz, and Bumblebee sat down too. “So how much of a visit are you up to?” he asked. “We don’t want to wear you out.” 

“No danger of that, as long as we don’t go anywhere. My processor’s as active as ever, even if my frame’s struggling to catch back up.”

“In other words, you’ve been bored.”

“Sooooooooooooooooo booooooooooored,” Jazz groaned, and everyone laughed. “Who’s the last seat for?” he asked when it quieted down.

“He’ll be along in a… few minutes?” Hound sounded unsure of the local time units.

“Minutes,” Mirage confirmed.

Jazz whined. “And you’re not going to tell me who it is, are you?”

“I’m going to do worse than that.” With a careful look at the room and their position in it, Mirage moved himself a few feet to his left, effectively blocking Jazz’s line of sight to the door. “There. Now, where shall we begin? We have a lot to catch up on.”

Jazz glared at him, but he knew what he was doing, and why. It probably was a good idea to let his last visitor get closer before attempting to pounce him. He didn’t want to aggravate his injuries, really, but it didn’t matter who it was. Ultra Magnus could walk through that door Jazz would still go in for the hug.

Luckily, catching up quickly proved very distracting. Mirage and Hound had already been given a basic rundown of events on Earth, so the conversation was mostly them relaying what they’d been doing around Jazz and Bumblebee’s questions.

“But wait,” Jazz broke in several minutes later, “if you were floating on fumes around Adrastea in a crippled ship when Prime’s message went out, how'd you make it to Earth?”

“That’s where I came in.”

_ That voice!  _

Spark surging so intensely with  _ hope _ and  _ want _ that it was physically painful, he looked up at the new arrival at the foot of his berth. 

“Hello, Jazz.” 

He hadn’t imagined it. He was really  _ here.  _ Jazz’s vocalizer clicked uselessly over the low keen rising from his chest. 

Hound and Mirage moved back to make room as Prowl ‒  _ Prowl!  _ ‒ walked up to Jazz’s side. “Don’t cry,” he said, sounding on the verge of breaking down himself. “Please don’t cry.” Then his composure did crack as he wrapped his arms tenderly around Jazz, and he was trembling when Jazz brought his arms up around him. “You’re alive. You’re alive…”

“I’m alive,” Jazz managed shakily, fingers clamping down so hard he could feel Prowl’s plating give slightly under the pressure. Solid. Real. “Alive. You’re alive.”

Somehow, against all the odds, they really were both alive.

A small corner of Jazz’s overwhelmed processor worried their reunion might be making their friends feel awkward. His concern was laid to rest before he could voice it by the dulcet tones of the King crooning over Bumblebee’s radio.

_ Take my hand, take my whole life too _ _   
_ _ For I can’t help falling in love with you _

_ . _

_ . _

_ . _


	10. With Animal Ears

“Awww, come on!” 

“No.” 

“But they’re adorable! I think they’d be fun!”

“Then get them for you and leave me out of it.”

“It’d be so much cooler to have matching ones though!” Jazz could tell by now that he wasn’t going to win this argument, but he couldn’t quite let it go. There was always a chance he was wrong about Prowl’s conviction, even if that glare meant the chance this time was vanishingly slim. And besides! They were so cute! “Please? For me? We could just wear them together once and then you could bury them in your glove box.”

“I don’t want to wear them at  _ all,  _ Jazz. The answer is no. Do not buy me a set of those ridiculous things. Are we clear?”

So much for even vanishingly slim. Jazz put up his hands in surrender. “As crystal. But just so you know, you wouldn’t look ridiculous in them.”

“I’d feel ridiculous in them. My alt is a police cruiser, Jazz. Who ever heard of a cop car with cat ears?”

...He had met humans, right?

Jazz decided to turn back to his browser in silence. Sometimes discretion was the better part of valor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are curious, this is what Jazz was looking at. No, I couldn't find a picture of them on a cop car :p  



	11. Wearing Kigurumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Wearing Animal Ears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087716/chapters/47884633)

“Jazz? Are you there?”

Jazz rocked happily on his tires. “Over here!” he called, tracking Prowl by the sound of his footsteps as he crossed the garage. “Come see what what I got!”

“If this is about those cat ears, I already told you I don’t‒  _ oh!  _ For the love of Primus.” He sounded so exasperated Jazz couldn’t help laughing. Exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for! “Do I even want to know what that’s supposed to be?”

“Probably not, but I’m going to tell you anyway.” Jazz was proud of this find, and while he would have bought it regardless of how his last one had gone over, the thought that this might make the cat ears look better by comparison had crossed his mind. “You ever heard of kigurumi?”

The pause before Prowl answered was long enough that Jazz suspected he was consulting The Google. “Animal-themed one-piece garments worn by humans?”

“Animal-themed in the broadest sense. Case in point,” Jazz bounced in place, “the one I’m wearing is based on a Pokemon.”

“What you’re wearing,” Prowl said derisively, “isn’t a garment. It’s a weatherproof car cover.”

“A  _ custom  _ weatherproof car cover,” Jazz corrected him. “And it’s one piece, and it’s cozy, and it’s cute.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Prowl spluttered. “Not to mention pointless.”

“Aww, don’t say that! You’ll hurt its feelings.”

“It doesn’t have feelings!”

“It has a face!” 

Prowl didn’t have a comeback for that. “I don’t suppose you’d consider returning it, along with this recent obsession with ‘cute’ things?” 

“What? And give up kawaii culture?”

“Yes.” 

“Sorry, Prowler, no can do.  _ Pika-Pikachu!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a Pokemon themed car cover, but for reference, I did find a Wheeljack one XD  



	12. Making Out

The air was hot and heavy ‒ oppressive, even. Jazz didn’t care. It was the annual engex festival! It could have been storming and he would still have had a smile on his face. The fact that it was sunny was just the icing on the oilcake.

Prowl hadn’t started the day smiling, but several hours in his stiff expression had relaxed under the influence of all the engex samples. He was even relaxed enough to laugh when Jazz added his latest acquisitions to their growing pile of loot.

“Just what are you planning to do with all of these? There’s more coasters here than anyone needs in a lifetime.”

“It’s not just coasters!” Jazz gleefully sifted through his prizes. “There’s bottle openers and buttons and koozies and stickers… pretty sure there’s a few candies in here… oh! Where’d you get the novelty sunglasses?”

“Over there,” Prowl waved vaguely before consulting the event guide. “Alter Ego had a few pairs out on their table.”

“Why did you only grab one then?”

“There’s only one of me,” Prowl pointed out.

“So? The goal is to grab as much as you can! Just look at all these freebies ‒ we’re making out like bandits!”

“I’d rather be making out with you.”

Jazz’s helm snapped up at that. “‘Scuse me?”

Prowl tried and failed to hide his face behind the guide. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “Forget I said anything.”

“Oh, no. I’m not drunk enough to let that go.” Jazz leaned in close, slowly pulling the guide out of the way. “We could totally make out.”

_ “I’m  _ not drunk enough to make out in public,” Prowl said, but it was clear he’d meant what he’d said about wanting to with the way he kept not-so-furtively glancing around for suitable cover.

“Come on.” Jazz stowed their goodies and stood, offering Prowl his hand. He squeezed his fingers when he took it. “I know somewhere we can go.”


	13. Eating Ice Cream

_ NEW STUFFED CRUST WAFFLE CONE!  _ the sandwich board outside their favorite ice cream shop proudly proclaimed.  _ AVAILABLE FOR A  _ _ LIMITED TIME ONLY!  _

Jazz looked at the sign. Looked at Prowl. Looked back to the sign. “I’m getting one.”

Prowl gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

“You bet I am! How could I possibly pass on an opportunity like this?”

“You probably should pass on it, but I suppose I know you better than that.”

“Right.”

“You have to make yourself sick before you’ll admit it was a bad idea.”

“Right!” Wait. “Hey!”

Prowl laughed. “Far be it from me to stop you, but might I suggest a single scoop instead of a double?”

Okay, that would probably be smart. Jazz made a face at Prowl anyway. “You’re no fun.”

“Of course not.” Prowl squared his shoulders. “I’m too practical and boring for fun.”

“Pfft.” Like that was true. “Come on, let’s get in line. You can get a boring, no-fun regular cone while I enjoy the sumptuous experience of deep fried pastry and cheese. Maybe if you ask nicely I’ll let you have a taste.”

The thing was an absolute monstrosity when they delivered the warm, gooey, melty mess into Jazz’s hands. It was so rich that it really was too much to eat in one sitting, but Jazz didn’t let that stop him. Prowl’s promised taste aside, he didn’t hesitate to polish off the entire thing.

So what if he felt a little sick afterward? It was worth it!


	14. Genderswapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in dragonofdispair's and my shared [Barbarian AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/968571), in which Jazz and Prowl are both femmes. Jazz, a warrior from a sea-faring island nation of "barbarians", kidnapped Princess Prowl from the mainland nation of Praxus and they became mates (a whole adventure in and of itself) before the events of this snippet, which take place in the Polyhexian islands.

Every cycle she got a little bit closer.

Climbing across the rocky surf along the edge of the island was a challenge, but Prowl was determined. She’d been curious to know what was inside the cave since the first time she’d seen it off the bow of the kattumaram, and she wasn’t going to let it being impossible to sail to (even in the smaller canoe) stop her from finding out!

It was dangerous, of course. There was always the risk of slipping on the rocks and injuring herself, and parts of the path she needed to traverse disappeared beneath the waves at high tide. She didn’t let that stop her either, using it instead as a way to time herself and streamline her approach. 

Eventually, of course, as she’d known it would, practice made perfect. Through a combination of hard earned familiarity with the terrain and hard won climbing skills ‒ and no small application of magic to improve her grip and jump certain gaps ‒ Prowl finally found herself standing at the mouth of the cave that was her goal.

“Yay!” she exclaimed to the uncaring surf, unable to contain her excitement. “I did it!” With a grin as bright as the light spell she centered on her star-shell necklace, Prowl put the waves at her back and crept into the cave for the first time.

“Ohhhh…”

The walls of the tunnel were simultaneously ragged and smooth in the way of natural, water-worn rock. Hidden in the cracks and crevices were collections of  _ keong _ and clusters of  _ midye, _ tempting her to stop and have a taste after her exertions. She didn’t stop to snack though, intent on exploring the cave as much as she could before the tide could return to threaten her.

She was rewarded some distance later when the tunnel opened up into a spectacular cavern. Stalactites dripped from the ceiling, some of them reaching all the way to the still surface of the water flooding the chamber to form solid columns, and embedded in and around them she saw glittering hints of the treasures Keahi sent her Hounds digging for beneath the ground. Prowl was glad they hadn’t found this place yet; for her, the treasure was in getting to see such a marvel with her own optics. 

“‘S beautiful, ain’t it?”

“Jazz!” Prowl whirled around in surprise. Sure enough, there was her beloved, standing at the end of the tunnel looking up at the ceiling with the same reverence on her face that Prowl felt. “How’d ya get here?”

“Same way I get anywhere.” Jazz flexed her natural claws pointedly. “I wondered how many times it’d take ya t’finally make it.”

“So did I,” Prowl giggled. “Didn’t realize y’were followin’ me.”

“Didn’t always, but I’m glad I was this time. I love watchin’ ya discover new things.”

“But it ain’t new, is it? If ya already knew what was here.” 

“‘S new t’ya,” Jazz said before Prowl could feel bad about it. “That makes it new t’me all over again. Ain’t the same seein’ alone as sharin’ it.”

“Good thing I like sharin’ then.” Having Jazz here did make it even better, and Prowl leaned into her mate’s arms when Jazz came up beside her. “‘Course, y’know what this means.”

“Oh, no,” Jazz drawled with exaggerated mock-despair. “Yer gonna bombard me with aaaaaaaaaaall the questions. Well, lay ‘em on me. I don’t mind.”

And she really didn’t. Prowl had yet to see Jazz tire of her curiosity, and that only encouraged her to ask more questions. “Let’s start with th’most important one then: can th’tide reach us here?”

“So clever,” Jazz preened and stroked Prowl’s doors. “That’s a very good question, but I bet ya don’t need me t’answer it if ya think on it a little.”

“No?” Then there must be a clue somewhere, something about the environment Prowl hadn’t logged as relevant. She scanned the cavern with new purpose, searching for signs of a tide line. “Oh!” There wasn’t one. “It doesn’t reach.”

“Nope,” Jazz confirmed. “Might get stuck here till it goes back out, but we won’t drown while we wait.”

“In that case…” If they weren’t going to drown, and they weren’t going to starve, Prowl could think of worse things than getting stuck here with Jazz. 

Her light spell chose that moment to fade, but the lack of mage-light revealed dozens of glowing dots all across the ceiling. Prowl pointed, instantly transfixed. “What’re those?”

_ “Titiwai,”  _ Jazz replied. “Lemme tell ya th’story…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polyhexian vocab:  
_kattumaram_ \- catamaran  
_keong_ \- rock snail/limpet  
_midye_ \- mussel  
_titiwai_ \- glowworm__


	15. In a Different Style of Clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When K-pop goes country, K/DA style (K/DA with humanformers a la my fic [Pop Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17434004) that is).
> 
> additional tags/warnings: humanformers, genderbending, innuendo

She’d gotten them to agree to them by promising it was only for one video. Jazz had sworn to make her twin stick to that before she’d seen the outfits, but now she was having to rethink her position.

Prowl’s reaction might have played a small part in that. Ostensibly he was watching the whole group rehearse, but his eyes never left her as she strutted across the floor. Who knew cowboy boots could be so sexy?

“I thought you’d lost your damn mind,” Tracks said to Ricochet during a break. Turned out country clothes could look classy too, and she and Mirage made quite the pair of “southern belles”. “But I kind of don’t hate it.”

“High praise coming from you,” Ricochet snickered. She was wearing a much more dressed-down outfit, complete with ratty jeans, oversized flannel shirt, and the most beat-up excuse for a hat Jazz had ever seen. It looked ridiculously good on her and she knew it. “What about you, Raj?”

Mirage shrugged, bouncing her beautiful blonde curls. “I didn’t want to wear,” she indicated Ricochet’s ensemble, “that, but this isn’t so bad. It’s actually rather pretty.” The floral print fabric of her fluttery skirt flared around her as she turned. “What about you, Jazz?”

“Me?” Jazz grinned and cocked a hip at Prowl. Yup, he was still staring ‒ at the booty shorts, the low cut crop top, or both. “It has its perks.” 

He’d look awfully good in a cowboy hat himself… and nothing else.


	16. During Their Morning Ritual(s)

War changed things, Jazz thought one morning as he watched Prowl getting ready for his shift. His bondmate had been a real morning mech before, frequently waking bright and alert before his alarm even had a chance to go off. By contrast, Jazz had abused the snooze function on his alarm egregiously, postponing getting up until the last klik possible before staggering to the kitchen for a morning stimulant blend to kick his processor into gear. Now, however…

“Hmm?” Prowl looked up from the dispenser, optics dim with lingering sleep. Now, he was the one who couldn’t get going without a cup of the same stuff he’d given Jazz grief over so long ago. It would have been the perfect opportunity for the pot to call the kettle, except that Jazz had given it up around the same time Prowl had started. He still loved it, still indulged in a treat every now and then, but he couldn’t afford to rely on it. Not when he couldn’t rely on being able to get it out in the field.

Jazz shook his head, dislodging that train of thought before it could build up steam. “Nothing. Just watching you.”

“Hmm.” 

At least his limited vocabulary was expressive, if not articulate. Jazz smiled and decided that the next time their schedules aligned, war permitting, he’d bring Prowl a cube in bed. Finding ways to spoil each other where and when they could was important, and the harder those little gestures became to fit in, the more important they were.

“Aww.” Like this! Jazz’s spark wobbled when Prowl joined him at the table with not one, but two cubes, one of which he slid across to Jazz. “Thank you.”

Prowl took a long drink before saying, “You’re welcome.”

There were any number of things they could have talked about. Instead they sat in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. Their free hands crept out toward each other over the tabletop until their fingers touched, and Jazz stroked Prowl’s hand. He would start every morning like this if he could.

Someday, Primus willing, they would.


	17. Spooning

Scanning a new alt mode was the  _ best. _ Even if the alt itself wasn’t all that flashy, Jazz loved those first few cycles where everything about it was new. The differences in weight distribution and aerodynamics that came with even subtle changes affected his balance and handling ‒ sometimes a little, sometimes a lot ‒ and discovering which feats of speed and agility had become easier and which had become more challenging was one of Jazz’s favorite things. 

Sure, new alts didn’t come with that new car smell humans valued so highly, but they came with a much more exciting new car feel.

Not everyone enjoyed it though. Most mechs didn’t like having to relearn their own frames, and the majority never expanded their repertoire beyond a short list of a few, familiar shapes. How boring! How limiting! Why keep only a handful of tools on your belt when you could carry a whole toolbox? It solved little problems as well as big ones.

For example. 

Their initial alt modes on Earth had been perfectly serviceable. Jazz loved his, in fact, and still used it frequently. It had come with one major drawback, however; namely, the corresponding configuration of his robot form with that alt didn’t fit together nicely with Prowl’s. He was a tactile mech! He needed his cuddles! But there was no way to spoon comfortably when they both had bumpers half the length of their arms (more, actually, in Prowl’s case, and he had those doorwings to boot).

No way until, through more trial and error with different alt modes in a month than most mechs went through in a lifetime, Jazz found one that was sleek on the streets and sweet in the sheets. Prowl had scoffed at his newest look this morning, but now? Jazz was snuggled up against his back, one arm and one leg thrown over Prowl’s side, and all he could hear from his lover was the rolling purr of a happily idling engine.


	18. Doing Something Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Gaming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087716/chapters/47639518)

“Don’t save here.”

“But it’s giving me the option to save.”

“Don’t do it.”

“Why not? I don’t want to have to redo that battle if the next guy kills me!” Boss rushes sucked, and that first one had been a right pain in the‒

“You could have to redo the entire game up to this point if you save here and can’t complete the whole sequence,” Prowl pointed out. “The game really ought to let you save multiple files.”

Yeah, that “feature” had annoyed Jazz too. Almost as much as Prowl continuing to tell him how to play annoyed him. So much for switching games! He should have stuck with Slime Rancher. “Well, it doesn’t let me, so I’m going to save now,” Jazz gave Prowl his best Don’t Say Anything face and pressed the button, “and worry about it later.”

Prowl opened his mouth‒

_ Don’t. Say. Anything. _

‒and shut it again without comment.

Good. That probably bought him about five uninterrupted minutes of gameplay. Jazz wasted no time in charging the next boss head-on.

It was surprisingly, gratifyingly easy after the last one. Instead of having to dance between buffs, debuffs, healing and dps in order to even have a chance, he was able to just go to town on the guy, unleashing one high-powered attack after another. Whatever big move the boss was charging never even got the chance to go off, and Jazz cackled in triumph as he pixelated into oblivion. “Ha! So much for getting stuck!” He saved again and went right on to the next battle.

Prowl made a soft noise of disapproval, but Jazz ignored him. He was on a roll!

Miraculously, Prowl remained silent all the way up to the final, final boss. Then, after it was dead, he piped up with, “Congratulations. Now how are you going to get out of the tower before it collapses?”

“Collapses?”

_ WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP! _

Jazz groaned at the in-game alarm as the screen flashed red. “Right. Because killing one guy can totally destroy the structural integrity of an entire building.”

“It can if he’s a metrotitan.”

“Oh. Of course. My mistake. I should have known the  _ organic dark priest  _ was a load-bearing boss.” A countdown timer appeared, letting Jazz know he had less than three minutes to get out of a dungeon it had taken over twenty to climb.  _ Scrap.  _ And he’d just saved after using up all of his recovery items!

At least Prowl had the decency to wait until Jazz rebooted from his fourth failed escape attempt to say, “I told you so.”


	19. In Formal Wear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> additional tags/warnings: intrigue, innuendo, propositioning

It wasn’t for a funeral (this time, thank Primus), but Jazz still felt like he was going to one; namely, his own. He hadn’t worn the uniform in so long, let alone the formal paint and polish, that the bright, crisp insignias looked less like badges of honor and more like targets as he inspected them in the mirror.

“Is everything to your liking, officer?”

None of it was to his liking, but that wasn’t the detailer’s fault. “Everything looks great. Thanks,” he told him, and left a generous tip on his way out. The mech really had done excellent work, and had been very gracious about fitting him in when Jazz showed up at the last possible minute. 

The less time he had to spend painted up like this, the better.

Driving directly to the event from the detailer’s also minimized the chances of accidentally messing up his shiny new finish. Jazz had fantastic situational awareness ‒ he wouldn’t still be alive if he hadn’t ‒ but that awareness didn’t extend to his paint job. There was no point. Scuffs and scratches were a fact of life and by far the least of his day to day worries, which meant he was woefully out of practice with the kind of coddling this sort of paint needed.

Still looking good enough to pass muster when he arrived, Jazz checked in at the front desk before making his way to the auditorium. It was a nice space. Way better than holding the assembly at the station, which would have severely undercut the sophisticated, self-congratulatory atmosphere they were going for.

“Well, well. I never thought I’d see the day.” 

Jazz grinned. He knew that voice. “You wouldn’t be seeing it now if I had any say in the matter,” he said, turning to take in Prowl’s formal attire. He looked unfairly comfortable in it, wearing the high gloss and appliqued accents like they were part of his regular uniform. “What’s wrong with you?” he teased. “Didn’t you know we were supposed to dress up for this shindig?” 

Prowl chuckled. “I suppose it doesn’t look that different on me, does it? You, on the other hand.” His gaze lingered on Jazz’s frame as he looked him up and down thoroughly. “I didn’t realize it would look this good on you.”

“Flatterer.”

“I prefer to call it an honest appraisal.”

“Uh huh.” Jazz stared at Prowl until he blushed and looked away. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The last time had said something “looked good on him” he’d been talking about the paint transfers he’d worn away from their last liaison meeting. 

Prowl’s “handling” of Jazz as his undercover operative wasn’t strictly professional, in no small part thanks to Jazz’s encouragement.

Much as Jazz wanted to contemplate thoroughly destroying their fancy paint, however, now was not the time or the place. “So how long do I have to stay before I can blow this joint? Figuratively,” he clarified. He wasn’t carrying any explosives at the moment.

“At least through the first recess. Mingle enough to be seen, congratulate a few mechs on their promotions, then you can disappear. Someone,” and the angry scowl that darkened Prowl’s countenance made it perfectly clear what he thought of that someone, “thought it would be an excellent idea to present you with a commendation in the second round of awards, but I handled it.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t mind having his efforts and achievements acknowledged, but shining a spotlight on your undercover operatives was just plain stupid. Jazz shuddered, shaking off morbid funeral thoughts. He was still working a job! “I shouldn’t even be here at all.”

“And yet, you are.” Prowl’s expression smoothed out, but not before Jazz caught the signal that it wasn’t safe to talk here. So he  _ did  _ suspect “someone” of trying to trip them up. “And since you are, might I ask for the pleasure of your company this evening?”

“You can have more than that,” Jazz said, offering his arm. Instead of taking it normally, Prowl delicately rested just the tips of his fingers against Jazz’s plating. “What’s up with that?”

“I’d hate to ruin your finish,” Prowl replied, and a mischievous light glinted in his optics. “So early in the evening, that is.”

“Is that a promise?” Jazz hoped it was. “I’ll hold you to it, you know.”

“I do know,” Prowl said, fingers pressing down infinitesimally “And I’m looking forward to it.”


	20. Dancing

Jazz woke from a nap to the soft sounds of music and puttering in the kitchen. He smiled as he sat up and stretched, trying to identify what Prowl was working on. It involved stirring something thick, whatever it was. Cake batter maybe? That would be awesome!

He was about to join him and offer to help when he realized Prowl wasn’t just listening to music, he was humming along with it. Jazz froze in his tracks outside the kitchen door. Prowl was so painfully shy about letting anyone, even him, hear him sing. He’d stop if he knew Jazz awake and listening, and that was the last thing Jazz wanted. 

Silent as only an infiltrator could be, Jazz crept closer until he could just peek around the door frame. It took a monumental effort to contain his excitement and stay quiet when he saw that Prowl was so relaxed and happy that he was dancing in addition to singing. It wasn’t anything fancy, nothing like the performative dancing Jazz loved so much, but the subtle swaying and rhythmically shuffled steps as he moved between counters was such a pure expression of joy coming from his bondmate that Jazz’s face hurt from smiling.

He stayed hidden as long as he could, not wanting to disturb the moment. Eventually, however, he couldn’t help himself. The next time Prowl set his bowl down, Jazz walked into the kitchen and swept him up in a spin.

“Jazz!” Startled and embarrassed, Prowl stopped humming immediately. Jazz felt him stiffen in his arms, his easy movement faltering…

“Don’t stop now.” Encouraging and pleading in equal measure, Jazz held Prowl close and gently rocked them back and forth. “Please keep dancing with me.”

The song in the background ended. In the pause between tracks, Jazz felt Prowl considering whether to pull away or stay.

When the next piece began, he was still in Jazz’s arms.

Dancing.


	21. Cooking/Baking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues directly from [Dancing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087716/chapters/48246067)

“So what did I cut in on?” Jazz asked when the music, and their dance, ended. As much as he would have liked to keep going, he had surprised Prowl in the middle of cooking something. Baking something? He wasn’t sure what he was making. “Want some help?”

“I would love some help.” Prowl stepped out of Jazz’s arms and handed him a large bowl and a whisk. A quick test stir showed the contents to be a batter of some sort. “Here. Keep that moving while I add this,” he retrieved a second bowl full of powder and a sifter, “so it doesn’t clump.”

“Okay,” Jazz said, obliging, “but what is it?”

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize it. You’re the one who sent me the recipe.”

“I send you a  _ lot  _ of recipes.” It wasn’t like he actually expected Prowl to make ‒ or even look ‒ at most of them. “How am I supposed to know which one you picked?”

“Scrape the sides so it doesn’t build up,” Prowl instructed, then took pity on him. “They’re the cadmium rolls your coworker made.”

“Oh! Really?” Jazz whisked with more enthusiasm. Those things had been fantastic. He’d wanted to bring one home for Prowl to try, but they’d gone so fast he’d had to settle for the recipe. He wasn’t sorry now that it meant they’d get a whole tray to themselves.“Nice.”

“I thought you’d approve.”

“Do! Very much.” Jazz met Prowl’s optics across the bowl. “You’re the best.” 

“Back at you.” Mixing done, Prowl traded a quick kiss for the bowl and took it over to the counter. Batter now a dough, he portioned it out into balls and set them in a muffin tray. “They’ll need twenty minutes in the oven. What do you want to do while we wait?”

Honestly? Jazz wanted to start the music back up and keep dancing together, but he knew Prowl would be too self-conscious if he asked. What else would be fun? “Make a couple of cubes to go with them? I tried making that spice blend of yours on my own the other day, but it didn’t come out right, and…” 

“And you want some help?”

“I would love some help.”

The best meals were always the ones they made together.


	22. In Battle, Side by Side

“Jazz! Behind you!” 

Jazz dove for cover immediately. The urgency in Prowl’s voice brooked no hesitation, and he was glad of his haste when a hot splash of acid hit the wall right where his head had just been, burning a good-sized hole in it. “Frag! Watch it, will you?”

“Did I hit it?”

“You damn near hit me!” Jazz rolled to a crouch, poised to spring whichever way he needed to. “Watch where you’re shooting next time!”

“I didn’t want it to escape again.” 

No  _ I’m sorry for almost melting your face off,  _ not even an  _ I trusted you to get out of the way.  _ Jazz bit back a sharp retort. He needed to finish dealing with The Situation first, then he could have it out with Prowl over his handling of it. “And? Did it?”

“It moved when you did! I didn’t see where it went.”

“So point me in the general direction so I can finish it off!” He wanted this over already!

“Check your three o’clock,” Prowl directed with more confidence than he’d professed to. “Be careful!” 

“Please. I’m always careful.” Picking his way carefully through the accumulation of debris, Jazz moved in for the kill. The acid had to have damaged it, which meant all he had to do was‒

“Look out! There, it’s going to jump‒!”

Prowl was pointing with his finger rather than his blaster this time. Following his line of sight, Jazz spotted his target and‒ 

_ CLAPPP**SPLAT!!!** _

Silence descended.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Prowl said in a strained voice.

_ “Me?!”  _ Jazz whirled, hands pressed firmly together around the admittedly disgusting remnants of the errant arachnid. “I’m not the one who shot  _ acid  _ at a  _ spider,  _ Prowl!”

“...In my defense,” Prowl attempted weakly, “it was a really big spider.”


	23. Arguing

Anyone who knew Jazz and Prowl knew that they argued all the time. Some mechs took that to mean they didn’t like each other, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Their arguments stemmed from their differences ‒ difference in knowledge, difference of experience, difference of opinion ‒ and Jazz valued those differences and the mech that embodied them. Sure, sometimes their arguments got intense, and sure, sometimes they happened at really bad times and left him really mad in the immediate aftermath, but he always learned something.

Prowl learned from him too. He’d said as much in the cooldown after one particularly heated argument. “Please don’t think the ease with which I become frustrated with you is indicative of a poor opinion of you.” Jazz remembered his phrasing because it was so formal he’d had to ask what the frag he was trying to tell him. “I don’t hate you,” Prowl had simplified.

“Even though I’m annoying as slag.”

“You aren’t. You’re incredible, and you make me want to be a better mech. Seeing all the ways I’m lacking in comparison to you is what’s so frustrating.”

The blunt admission had embarrassed him, but it had also shocked Jazz into revealing that he felt the same way, and from that point on it was amazing what acknowledging that mutual inferiority complex did for their friendship and working relationship. They still argued ‒ of course they did ‒ but they reconciled faster and learned more each time.

It didn’t make sense to those on the outside looking in, but that didn’t matter to them. What mattered was that they made each other better mechs from the inside out.


	24. Making Up Afterwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unrelated to the previous ficlet despite the obvious connection between the two prompts that I totally missed by not looking ahead :p

Jazz should have apologized and he knew it. It was always a risk, walking away angry. There was a war on, for Primus’ sake! Mirage had scolded him as he’d left for his mission, asking if he really wanted the last words he and Prowl ever exchanged to be hurtful ones. As if that was even a question. Of course that wasn’t what he wanted! He’d said as much to his agent, but in the moment he hadn’t been willing to say it to Prowl.

He wasn’t proud of that decision, but it was the only decision he felt he could have made. The headspace he’d been in at the time would only have made things worse if he’d tried to repair them. Rather than set fire to the damaged bridge between them, Jazz had left to let time work its magic and, with any luck, not get either of them killed.

“You always did have more luck than you deserve.”

Jazz chuckled. He hadn’t even been back on base a full joor and already Prowl had found him. He sounded bitter, but his very presence was enough to lift a weight from Jazz’s shoulders. “I’m not going to complain.” 

Prowl didn’t say anything.

“I will say that I’m grateful,” Jazz continued. “And that I’m sorry.”

“Sorry because you almost died?”

“Because I hurt you and I regret that.” Jazz turned to face Prowl. “I’m sorry I let my temper get away from me and I’m sorry I needed more time than I had to cool down and tell you that before I left.” 

Some of the tension in Prowl’s frame eased. “You mean that?”

“I do.” Almost dying was never any fun, but he would have owed Prowl the same apology if all he’d done was go to the grocery store. “Are you…?” 

“Still upset? Yes. But.” Prowl sighed. “I don’t like feeling like this. I want to move past it.”

“I’d like that too.” Jazz walked over to him and rubbed his arms gently. “What can I do?”

“That’s a good start.” Prowl leaned into the touch. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes.” A thousand times yes.

One kiss led to two and two to three. They weren’t okay yet, but they would be.


	25. Gazing Into Each Others' Optics

The first time he saw him was from across the platform at the transit station. Jazz was waiting on a delayed train to Altihex, bored out of his gourd when he spotted the other black and white mech waiting on the train to Tarn. He was smaller than most of his fellow travelers and less colorful, and as such he stood out. Why was he going to Tarn? Maybe he was a high-powered executive on an important business trip. Maybe he was sneaking away for a clandestine meeting with a lover. Maybe he was an underground spy, on his way to sabotage the Smelter’s Syndicate on behalf of the Iaconi mob.

This was fun!

He was too busy constructing fanciful scenarios in his head to look away fast enough when the mech caught him staring, so he just raised his hand and waved.  _ Hi,  _ he mouthed, and smiled when the surprise in the other mech’s optics morphed into amusement. 

_ Hi,  _ he mouthed back.

They maintained the oddly comfortable optic contact until Jazz’s train finally arrived, imposing itself between them and blocking their view. Jazz silently wished the other mech luck with whatever his real errand in Tarn was as he settled into his seat with no expectation of ever seeing him again.

The second time he saw him was, of all places, in a shopping center in Crystal City. Jazz was on the down escalator and the other mech was on the one going up, and their optics met halfway. They passed close enough they could have said hi this time, but they just watched each other go by, turning around on the moving stairs to prolong the moment until they reached their respective floors. 

Did he feel the same urge to come back the way he’d come? Or did he just brush it off as an incredible coincidence and get on with his shopping? Jazz wanted to find him and ask, but he was already running late. 

This time he left hoping to someday see the mech again.

The third time he saw him, Jazz was convinced it was fate. He’d stopped on an overpass to watch the Kaonex road crew clearing an accident on one of the lower levels, and he couldn’t help thinking that one of the mechs caught waiting for the road to reopen looked familiar somehow. Then,  _ somehow,  _ the mech had to have seen him watching. The vaguely familiar alt transformed into a very familiar mech right there in traffic, helm tilted up and blue optics aimed right at Jazz. 

_ Hi,  _ he mouthed, exaggerating the movement of his lips to make sure Jazz could read the word. He was smiling, and Jazz smiled and waved back.

_ Hi.  _

The mech didn’t stay on his feet long, unsurprisingly, but Jazz stayed after he transformed, memorizing every line of his frame until the accident was cleared and he drove away. He dropped back to his own tires, confident they would see each other again.

The moment finally came during a business trip to Iacon. Jazz had found a local restaurant on his lunch break and was enjoying a cool, chlorinated cube at the counter when his wandering optics caught and held on a particular patron at the other end of the bar. Blue optics looked up from a datapad and brightened in recognition as they met Jazz’s.

“Hi.”

Jazz suppressed a shiver of excitement at actually getting to hear his voice. He had a nice voice. No way he was letting this opportunity go; without hesitating, Jazz brought his cube over to sit in the empty chair beside the mech he already thought of as his friend. “Hi. I’m Jazz.”

“Prowl.” The mech ‒ Prowl ‒ held out his hand. Jazz took it, shaking warmly. “Pleased to properly meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They spent the rest of the hour finally getting to know each other and gazing into each other’s optics.


	26. Getting Married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> additional tags/warnings: sparklings

He proposed with a chunky purple plastic ring from a gumball machine. 

Their classmates had been teasing him, calling Prowl his bondmate because Jazz always played with him. They said it like it was a bad thing, but Jazz thought it was a great idea. Prowl was his bestest-ever friend! Being bondmates together made perfect sense, because then they could do everything together forever. 

Of course Prowl said yes. The proto-doorwings on his back flicked happily when Jazz handed him the ring. “We need a ceremony,” he said seriously. “You can’t be bondmates without a ceremony.”

“Oh! Right!” Jazz thought about the bonding ceremonies in the movies. “We need an aisle, and decorations, and snacks, and someone to pronounce us.” Where were they going to find all that?

“We can make an aisle!” Their classmates began rearranging the desks and chairs to make a path to the front of the room. 

“And decorate!” One mechling rushed to the whiteboard and started drawing balloons with colored markers while another pulled the building blocks out of their cubby and began arranging them on the desks. “What about snacks though?”

“Leave that to me!” Jazz scampered over to the snack cupboard. It was locked, but that didn’t stop him from prying the door open and fishing out several packets of sweet wafers. “Ta da!”

Prowl looked up from where he’d taken up directing the decorating efforts. “Are there any caesium ones?”

“See-zee-um…” Jazz shuffled the packets in his hands. “I think this one is.”

Prowl agreed with him and set that packet aside for them to share at the overturned trash can altar. “But who’s going to pronounce us?”

“I know the words,” one of their classmates piped up. “It’s ‘do you’ and then ‘do you’ and ‘does anyone object’ right before ‘now you are bonded in the optics of Primus’.”

And so they were. Before their classmates and Primus himself, Jazz put the plastic ring on Prowl’s finger and held out his own for Prowl to loop a bright blue rubber band around, and they were bondmates.

Now they’d be together forever.


	27. On One of Their Birthdays

Jazz didn’t know when his birthday was. He didn’t know when his creation day or any-other-regularly-celebrated-interval-of-time day was either, and he wasn’t alone in that. Cybertronians had incredibly long life spans ‒ if they didn’t have ridiculously short ones ‒ and they lived all across the galaxy, immersed in hundreds of local times. With such wild variation, what measurement would be meaningful to celebrate? 

That wasn’t to say he didn’t know how old he was. Roughly. Give or take. He could pinpoint it to within a few vorns, which was good enough. The events a mech had lived through meant more than an exact number of vorns of functioning. Eras over age, to turn a phrase.

Of course, not having birthdays meant not being able to celebrate them, and that was a real shame. Jazz loved celebrating things! So he took it upon himself to give everyone a birthday, and he started with Prowl.

Predictably, Prowl was perplexed by the party. “What is all this?”

“We’re celebrating your continued existence!” Jazz announced amidst the cheers and applause of the rest of the crew. “Happy birthday, Prowl!”

“We don’t  _ have  _ birthdays, Jazz,” came the expected, exasperated response. It was there in his field though, as he looked around the room: a soft glow that said he was touched to see how many mechs were there.

“Maybe not,” Jazz agreed, “but everyone deserves to be celebrated every once in a while. And you,” he moved in close to plop an oversized party hat on Prowl’s head, “my beautiful, brilliant, beloved Prowl, deserve it more than I can say in words.”

Wobbling light ribbons danced at the edge of Prowl’s optics, and his voice wobbled a little too when he spoke. “So you decided to say it with streamers and confetti?”

“And cake. Can’t have a birthday party without cake.” Jazz smiled and took Prowl’s hand. “Let us make a fuss over you? Just for once?”

Prowl squeezed his fingers. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That we celebrate you next.”

Love. It was the gift that kept on giving. “I think we can manage that.”


	28. Doing Something Ridiculous

“This is ridiculous.”

“It is not.”

“I defy you to tell me what it is then.”

Jazz considered his options. “Whimsical,” he went with.

Prowl didn’t look convinced. He also didn’t come inside, choosing instead to stand in the doorway. “Ridiculous,” he repeated. “Also impractical. Where exactly are we supposed to sleep? It looks like you turned the entire habsuite inside out.”

“And shook it real good for good measure,” Jazz winked. “There is still a bed in here though, I promise.” Even if it was technically more of a nest now than a bed. “What can I say? I was inspired!”

“By what? Lawrence of Arabia?”

Jazz chuckled. “Something like that. Come on,” he said, grabbing Prowl’s hand and tugging him inside. Billowing drapes of colorful fabric hung to mimic the interior of a luxurious bedouin tent brushed against their shoulders and Prowl’s doorwings. The scent of incense rose from a decorative brazier as they settled onto a pair of comfortable floor cushions beside a low table laid out with sweets. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Humble my aft,” Prowl chuckled. “You really went all out with this.”

“Of course I did! Anything worth doing is worth doing right.”

“And this was worth doing?”

“Absolutely!” Even if Prowl did think it was ridiculous. 

Jazz had all night to convince him otherwise, and he was looking forward to the challenge.


	29. Doing Something Sweet

“Hey! Find a stopping point, I want to do something.”

Prowl looked up from his desk. “Is it something disruptive?”

“I mean, it  _ is  _ going to get in the way of your work. Buuut,” Jazz drew out the word as he crossed the room and slipped around behind Prowl’s chair, “I won’t take up too much of your time, promise.”

Prowl turned to look up at him over his shoulder. “What are you up to?”

“What I do best.” Jazz dropped his hands to the joints at the base of Prowl’s doorwings, massaging gently as he kissed the top of his head. “Taking care of you.”

Prowl’s EM field swelled, warm and mellow. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Now let me work my magic.” Jazz pulsed the magnets in his hands and Prowl melted. He worked himself up far too easily, carrying tension in his back, shoulders, and doors that contributed to processoraches. Jazz wasn’t leaving until he’d relaxed every last tensor cable.

Prowl was happy to let him.


	30. Doing Something Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> additional tags/warnings: tactile interfacing

Few things were better than a good chase. 

Jazz laughed joyfully and swerved, dodging Prowl’s latest attempt on his rear bumper. He wouldn't spin out that easily! If Prowl wanted to catch him, he was going to have to work for it.

It wouldn’t do to just give him the victory, even if Jazz did want to be caught in the end.

The desert rock was hot beneath his tires, scorching like the sun beating down on his hood. Overheating was a real danger, which of course only made it more fun. The need to balance how hard he pushed his engine was as much of a challenge as the occasionally slippery traction (curse those sneaky dust patches!), and Jazz had to be at the peak of his performance to evade Prowl. The mech was an absolute beast when he engaged his pursuit drive, and Jazz loved it. 

He loved what came after even more.

Steam hissed from his joints as he transformed. Prowl was on him before he’d even settled on his feet, pinning him up against the rock wall he’d used to corner him. His voice rumbled through Jazz’s frame when he spoke. “Someone’s running hot.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Jazz gasped, electricity sparking beneath Prowl’s fingers where they were questing under his bumper. “I blame you.”

“I’ll accept the blame in this case.” Fingers tweaked a sensitive cable. Jazz groaned. “I’ll accept the credit too.”

“Nnng! All the credit!” Jazz squirmed, already so close to his first overload. It wasn’t going to take much more… “Please!”

Sometimes Prowl liked to tease him when he was on the edge like this. Not this time. The chase had worked him up past the point of patience, and the result was a screaming overload that echoed off the sandstone and grounded through Prowl hard enough to set off his sirens.

He turned them off quickly enough, but it still had Jazz chucking as he regained control of his systems. "Looks like I deserve a little credit of my own."

"And blame," Prowl said, but he was smiling. "I win, by the way."

"Nah." Jazz leaned in for a burning kiss. He hadn't lost anything. _"We_ win."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading along! Doing this again this year has been a lot of fun, and I'm very glad I let myself get talked into it <3 Until the next one!


End file.
